The Double Alibi

by Noel Vindry

  ‘My dear Sallent, riddles are there to be solved, not denied.’

  ‘You love them so much,’ growled the other, ‘that you imagine them purely for the pleasure. As for me, it’s obvious that Proto was distracted and left his post.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. He would have feared being double-checked, which is exactly what happened. We were too close by for him to allow himself a fantasy; at least he would have waited longer: as it is, we hadn’t been in the shed for more than a quarter of an hour before you noticed the light. No, we have to admit the two basic facts of the problem: Proto was at his post and the fellow entered anyway.’

  ‘But then…,’ exclaimed the superintendent, stopping suddenly.

  M. Allou took him by the arm.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking. You mustn’t accuse too quickly, Sallent.’

  ‘Monsieur le juge, because you’re here, I’m going to let you do the thinking. When there’s a riddle, you’re in your element. I see things more simply, but then I’m just a workhorse.’

  ***

  They reached the car. Clermon was asleep in the back. He woke with a start when someone opened the door, and instinctively put his hand in his pocket and started to pull out a revolver.

  Then he recognised his companions.

  ‘Ah, it’s you!’ he said. ‘But it’s still night time… did you find him? I advised you not to come back if….’

  ‘Relax,’ replied Sallent. ‘He’s not with us.’

  ‘Did you abandon the surveillance?’

  ‘No, he escaped.’

  ‘Oh!’ murmured Clermon.

  The superintendent recognised the implied criticism in the single syllable.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘we were three against one. But things happened in such a mysterious way….’

  And, out of self-respect, he gave a full account of the events.

  ‘That’s certainly strange,’ said Clermon at last.

  Sallent had the strong impression that their companion didn’t place much faith in their account and suspected they had blundered. He frowned, sat in a corner and didn’t say another word.

  Clermon sat down behind the wheel.

  ‘Personally,’ he said, ‘I’d have liked to have got my stolen vehicle back.’

  There was a grunt from Sallent’s corner and M. Allou thought he heard:

  ‘I don’t give a….’

  He hastened to intervene:

  ‘I didn’t hear the sound of a car.’

  ‘Oh, it’s very quiet,’ retorted Clermon. ‘I assume he used it and then took an express train at one of the major stations.’

  ‘Unfortunately, the telegraph doesn’t work at night in the countryside. By the time we get back to Bordeaux it’ll be too late. And as for following him, he has too much of a lead.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘At least an hour and a half.’

  ‘You waited that long?’

  ‘Double-checking,’ growled Sallent.

  ‘Besides, to follow him,’ added M. Allou, ‘we would have had to know the route he would take. He had a wide choice of stations from which to take an express.’

  ‘Description posted everywhere. Will find it front of some station. Not gallivanting around France in this banger. Get on with it. Need sleep.’

  ‘You’ve been very kind to put yourself out like this,’ M. Allou hastened to add. ‘We’re very grateful to you.’

  ‘Grateful,’ echoed the superintendent.

  Upon their arrival in Bordeaux, M. Allou and Sallent went straight to bed and didn’t wake up until late the following morning. By the time the superintendent descended into the lobby, he found his colleague about to leave.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

  ‘Back to Clermon’s.’

  ‘Are you following a new lead?’

  ‘My dear fellow, I don’t just think about my profession. Have you forgotten that today’s the day the engagement becomes official?’

  ‘Completely. Other things to do. Girl doesn’t interest me. Without her, would’ve made an arrest day before yesterday. Avoided ridiculous mess last night.’

  ‘Come, come, one must be more understanding where love is concerned.’

  ‘Better think than talk nonsense.’

  ‘Think then, my dear Sallent. You’ve nothing else to do this morning.’

  ‘Just stupid animal. Counted on you. Too bad! Make your request. I’ll go to your marriage. Much too young for you. Make fool of yourself.’

  ‘Thank you, my friend. I’ll see you soon.’

  M. Allou left.

  He had made his decision. Because everything he’d tried with Clermon had come to nothing, he would try to go after Serge Madras. No action had yet been taken regarding his false allegation, and he needed to make a move before it was too late. Perhaps that would bring a halt to the proceedings.

  But first M. Allou wanted to take one last step.

  He asked to see the secretary and was immediately taken to his office. Madras was already up, but was wearing a bandage around his head.

  Seeing him again, M. Allou had to fight back his first impression. He didn’t dislike the young man and it irked him to admit it.

  Thus there was a harsh tone to his voice as he declared, upon entering the room:

  ‘I’ve come to congratulate you, sir. I believe your engagement is due to be announced today?’

  ‘No, sir,’ replied Madras simply.

  ‘What do you mean? M. Clermon confirmed it yesterday.’

  ‘He forgot to ask me.’

  ‘And you refused? Didn’t you make the request?’

  ‘I only talked about a project. Obviously, I deeply desired the marriage, and it would have taken place had my sentiments been returned. For a while I’d believed it to be so, but I was mistaken.’

  ‘Yet Miss Clermon hasn’t turned you down?’

  ‘She’s consented despite herself. I could never accept such a situation.’

  ‘But why did she agree?’

  ‘I can only speak for myself.’

  ‘Of course.’

  M. Allou stayed silent for a few minutes.

  ‘Dammit!’ he exclaimed suddenly. ‘You strike me as an honest man. How could you have made that accusation against your rival?’

  ‘It was genuine. I must have been mistaken.’

  ‘No, that’s not possible. There’s another answer. You knew how worthless Allevaire was, but you couldn’t say so publicly. So you found that means to prevent a marriage which you correctly thought would be fatal. What did you learn and when?’

  ‘I didn’t know anything!’

  ‘Obviously you can’t say anything today, so I won’t press you.’

  ‘But I assure you….’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  M. Allou shook his hand and left.

  ***

  On the stairs, he heard someone coming down behind him and turned round. Marthe Clermon stepped down next to him.

  ‘What have you found?’ she asked.

  He smiled.

  ‘Be happy, my child, the marriage won’t take place.’

  He’d expected cries of joy, or at least a happy expression. But, to the contrary, the big blue eyes stared at him and gradually filled with tears.

  ‘But, miss… I don’t understand.’

  It was not grief in her expression, but despair. In a broken voice, Marthe declared:

  ‘I thank you, sir… I thank you very much… you’ve been very kind… I’m very grateful… Very… I’m very happy….’

  And then she fainted.

  Chapter XVII

  SALLENT’S DISCOVERY

  M. Allou ate lunch alone and went back to meet Sallent.

  ‘So?’ enquired the latter.

  ‘Nothing of importance, except the proof that I’m an idiot.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s something I don’t understand.’

  ‘About last night?’

  ‘Oh, that’s right. I’d forgot
ten about that.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘No, something else… something far more mysterious.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The soul of a young girl.’

  ‘No time for rubbish,’ growled Sallent.

  ‘What have you got to do that’s so important?’

  ‘Find something to do!’

  ‘It comes with the job.’

  ‘Not cut out for sitting thinking in an armchair. Too many riddles for me.’

  ‘Still bothered about yesterday?’

  ‘Yes. Something else as well.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The wallet. What was it doing in Allevaire’s house?’

  ‘You say that with a knowing air, Sallent.’

  ‘Just that I’ve got an idea.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘You’ll laugh.’

  ‘No, I promise.’

  ‘Well, I wonder if Allevaire didn’t murder Fumage. Secretary here gave him an alibi. And young girl, who suspects, is afraid and doesn’t want to marry Madras any more, even though she might love him.’

  ‘She might love him? Then why protect Allevaire? So that he won’t confess to Madras’s complicity if he’s arrested?’

  ‘Good Lord!’

  ‘But Madras seems like an honest man.’

  ‘Never trust appearances.’

  ‘So then the business in Limonest was a set-up, done by chance the same day?’

  ‘Set-up, yes, but maybe not how you think, and not by chance.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning you’ve established the right principles for the alibis, but you’ve applied them wrongly.’

  ‘Explain!’ said M. Allou.

  ‘Not yet… not ready… you’d mock me. But I might take a trip to Limonest.’

  ‘I’m going to take one into town.’

  M. Allou headed for the river and, during the whole afternoon, absent-mindedly watched the big ships as they made their way to the ocean. Sallent’s idea didn’t seem at all stupid and he wanted to think it through to the end. Eventually, he thought he’d worked it out.

  Night was falling when he decided to return. He arrived at the hotel at well past nine o’clock.

  A porter came to meet him.

  ‘A letter for you, sir.’

  It wasn’t stamped.

  ‘Who gave it to you?’

  ‘The gentleman who was with you.’

  ‘M. Sallent?’

  ‘Yes, that’s him.’

  ‘He left?’

  ‘Yes, sir, he left for the station with his suitcases, about a quarter of an hour ago. He must only just have caught his train.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  M. Allou smiled to himself.

  ‘What’s he up to?’ he murmured. ‘Is it just because he’s in a bad mood? He could have waited for me, all the same.’

  He opened the envelope and withdrew a letter and an official telegram, each as brief as the other.

  The wire, from Marseille and addressed to Sallent, said:

  “Epicevieille signals presence of Allevaire in Limonest. Lyon police mobile notified. Examining magistrate Marseille, Poitevin.”

  It had been expedited at eight o’clock that evening.

  “Well, old Poitevin’s standing in for me there,” thought M. Allou.

  He turned to the letter and read:

  “Nine o’clock. Waited to the last minute. Regards. Sallent.”

  ‘What time is the next train for Lyon?’ he asked the porter.

  ‘Tomorrow morning at half past eight.’

  ‘Wake me at seven.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’

  ***

  M. Allou fell quickly into a deep asleep, unaware of the anxiety reigning at the same time in the Levalois residence in Limonest

  They were seated, as usual, symmetrically one either side of their aunt Dorothée, like two vases on a mantelpiece. Occasionally, Gertrude placed her knitting on her knees and murmured:

  ‘So, he’s back….’

  ‘You can say it as often as you like,’ retorted Hortense, ‘but it won’t change anything.’

  Gertrude fell silent, intimidated by her sister. But she brooded about the same idea, which she dared not express out loud, for fear of bringing bad luck. She feared there might be a new break-in that night, and this time the burglar, emboldened, might come to look for them in their bedrooms.

  She had already got up four times to check the bolt on the door. Five minutes after the last verification, she was already unsure.

  The scruple was understandable. Because what Gertrude had never confessed was her certitude that, on the night of the theft, she had indeed bolted the door. She would have been mocked if she had. So, timidly, she had tried to erase the memory, but it refused to go away.

  The obsession with danger only left her to be replaced with another, older, concern, which she expressed every night. No matter how hard she tried to contain herself, she always ended by asking, in a loud voice:

  ‘Why did you claim to recognise Gustave that night in Marseille, my aunt, when you knew very well it wasn’t him?’

  Dorothée never answered Gertude directly. Instead, it was Hortense who always replied:

  ‘Be quiet. Leave our aunt alone.’

  One might have thought that Hortense intervened out of the goodness of her heart, to spare the poor old woman. She had, indeed, suffered greatly from the events; her back had become more curved and she could no longer walk, even with two canes, so she had to be supported.

  But it wasn’t only pity that justified her niece’s protection—though there was plenty of that. Hortense also calculated that it would be a bad idea to annoy someone who might become rich one day; Dorothée’s brother, from whom she may very well inherit, was in rapid decline.

  Gertrude, more naïve, did not share the same concern. She persisted:

  ‘You wanted to protect his escape, Aunt Dorothée, despite what he’d done. After the theft of your silverware. Without realising that could cause you problems with the police!’

  It required all of Hortense’s authority to shut her sister up.

  She put down her embroidery and said:

  ‘Let’s go up to bed. That’s better than listening to the same thing every time.’

  ‘To bed?’ murmured Gertrude. ‘Aren’t you afraid?’

  Hortense was indeed afraid, but she realised that, if she showed it, she could provoke a panic. She had to put on a calm front.

  Nevertheless, she shot a discreet glance at the bolt as she went past, which didn’t escape Gertrude’s notice.

  ‘You see….’

  ‘Of course I verify. But that doesn’t mean that I think Gustave is here.’

  ‘Yet M. Epicevieille confirms that he saw him at two o’clock.’

  ‘I saw him this evening. He was far from certain. He’s only seen Gustave two or three times in his life.’

  It was a lie: the old clerk had, in fact, been adamant. But Hortense didn’t want to have to listen to her sister moaning all night.

  And what she wouldn’t have failed to add, had she known, was that the house was under surveillance by the police mobile.

  In any case, nothing out of the ordinary happened that night.

  The following morning, Gertrude, beginning to regain her calm, had another shock at around ten o’clock. Someone had rung the door bell and, looking out of the window, she saw a very tall, thin man.

  At first, she thought it was Epicevieille. But no, the visitor appeared to be much younger. So, it must be the police!

  Since May 10, she had feared such a visit. Aunt Dorothée’s false testimony at Aubagne couldn’t fail to create a catastrophe. Hopefully they wouldn’t drag her old aunt into prison!

  Gertrude was in a panic. What’s more, Hortense had gone out. What was she to do?

  A second ring of the door bell, this time much louder, prompted her to open the door, and Superintendent Sallent came in.

  It wasn’t his first vi
sit to Limonest. He’d already interviewed the postman.

  ‘Does Madam Dorothée get a lot of mail?’ he’d asked.

  ‘Oh, no, sir. Only two letters a year, and always in the same hand.’

  ‘And did you deliver one recently?’

  ‘Yes, about ten days ago, around May 7 or May 8, one or two days before the theft. I put it in her letter box.’

  ‘Very good, that’s what I thought.’

  Now, the superintendent was standing stiffly in front of Gertrude.

  She began to tremble and stutter:

  ‘S-Sir… s-sir….’

  Sallent, noticing her discomfort, adopted a pitiless stance:

  ‘What are you hiding from me?’ he asked severely.

  The frightened old maid let out her secret:

  ‘Sir, the bolt was firmly shut.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘The night of the theft.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say so?’

  ‘I was afraid I’d be made fun of… I thought at the time I may have been wrong… But now I’ve a clear recollection.’

  ‘Continue to refresh your memory. Did your aunt receive a letter one or two days before the theft?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. The only person who ever wrote to her was Gustave, and she always made us read his letters.’

  ‘And that day she didn’t show you one?’

  ‘No, sir, I swear it. You do believe me, don’t you?’

  ‘Willingly. That’s what I suspected. She must have had her reasons. But I want to be sure. Who would have looked in the letter box?’

  ‘Whoever happened to be there when the postman arrived.’

  ‘Sometimes that was your aunt?’

  ‘Oh, yes, often. She was the one with the most time on her hands.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll have to talk to her.’

  ‘Oh, sir, you’re not going to put her in prison, are you? She’s so old. And she loved her nephew so much. She thought she recognised him in Aubagne.’

  ‘Just take me to her,’ replied the superintendent.

  Trembling, she obeyed.

  ***

  Dorothée was still in bed.

  Sallent sat down next to her and made a sign for Gertude to leave.

  ‘Madam,’ he began, ‘you’ve given false testimony. It wasn’t your nephew who was killed in Aubagne.’